Page 8 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

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. . .

I woke tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, my skin burning with feverish intensity.

Every nerve ending screamed for relief, for the touch of an alpha, any alpha, to soothe the ache that had settled deep in my core.

The thin t-shirt I’d fallen asleep in clung to my damp skin, and omega need pooled between my thighs, soaking through to the mattress beneath me.

“Fuck,” I groaned, pressing my face into the pillow. “Just kill me now. Or at least knock me unconscious until this is over.”

My heat had never been this intense before, not even during my first cycle at fourteen when I’d presented as omega. The stress and proximity to three powerful alphas had amplified everything—the sensitivity, the need, the desperate, clawing hunger for alpha attention.

I tried to fight it, tried to ignore the way my empty channel clenched around nothing, seeking the stretch and pressure of an alpha’s knot.

But it was like trying to ignore a third-degree burn.

The pain only intensified with each passing minute, the empty ache becoming a physical agony that radiated from my core outward until even my fingertips tingled with it.

Another cramp tore through me, and I curled into a fetal position, a whimper escaping before I could stop it. Wetness flooded between my thighs, my body preparing itself for a mating that my mind dreaded.

“This is so unfair,” I said, dragging myself from the bed on shaking legs. “Of all the omega stereotypes to fulfill, I had to get the ‘desperate for alpha cock’ one. Couldn’t I have been the ‘makes excellent soufflés’ type of omega instead?”

I stumbled to the bathroom, peeling off my soaked t-shirt as I went. The cool marble floor against my overheated skin provided momentary relief, but it wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough—to quell the inferno raging inside me.

The face that greeted me in the mirror was barely recognizable.

Flushed cheeks stained with a fevered pink.

Pupils so dilated that only a thin ring of hazel remained.

Swollen lips from where I’d been biting them in my sleep.

My scent glands at my neck were visibly swollen, an angry red against my pale skin, beading with the omega pheromones that would drive the alphas into a frenzy whether they wanted it or not.

“You look like shit, Ty,” I told my reflection. “A hot mess. Emphasis on the hot, unfortunately.”

I turned on the shower, cranking it to cold despite knowing it wouldn’t help. Nothing would help except what waited for me in the next room. Three alphas. Three knots. Three chances to fulfill De Luca’s twisted assignment.

The water hit my overheated skin with shocking coldness, but the relief was fleeting. Within seconds, my body had adjusted, and the burning need returned full force. I leaned against the shower wall, letting the water cascade over me as another wave of heat rolled through my core.

My fingers trailed down my stomach of their own accord, seeking relief. I was so sensitive that even that light touch sent sparks of pleasure-pain racing through me. Between my legs, I was embarrassingly ready, my body’s response mixing with the shower water and running down my thighs.

“Stop it,” I hissed at myself, snatching my hand away. “That’s not going to help.”

I knew from past experience that self-pleasure during heat was like trying to extinguish a forest fire with a water pistol. It might provide momentary relief, but it would only make the need stronger afterward, the emptiness more acute.

I forced myself to focus on washing, on the mechanical act of cleaning my body for what was to come. De Luca would be checking on my progress soon. He’d expect results. And if I failed to deliver…

My father’s bloodied face flashed through my mind, followed by De Luca’s cold smile and the gun pressed to my father’s temple.

I had no choice. I had to go back in there.

“It’s not like you have to marry them,” I said, turning off the water and reaching for a towel. “Just get knocked up and get out. Simple biology.”

But it wasn’t simple. Nothing about this situation was simple.

I dried off quickly, my skin so sensitive that even the soft towel abraded painfully. I rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing but more of De Luca’s disturbing collection of lingerie and sheer garments that would make a burlesque dancer blush.

“What, no full-body condoms?” I said, pushing aside a particularly offensive scrap of lace. “Guess I’ll go with the ‘invisible fabric’ option again.”

I pulled on another oversized t-shirt that barely covered the essentials.

The moment the fabric touched my skin, my nipples hardened painfully, visible through the thin material.

Without underwear, the dampness gathering between my thighs would soon soak through, announcing my condition to the alphas even more clearly than my scent already would.

“Perfect. Nothing says ‘I’m a desperate omega’ like visible nipples and wet thighs.”

I paced the room, trying to think through my options. Every passing minute made rational thought more difficult as my heat cycle pushed into overdrive. Their scents permeated everything, seeping through the walls and under the door, calling to something primal within me.

“Get it together, Ty,” I told myself firmly. “You need a plan. You need?—”

A sharp cramp doubled me over, so intense that I cried out, dropping to my knees on the cold marble floor. My empty channel clenched violently around nothing, the biological need for an alpha’s knot becoming an all-consuming agony.

I pressed my forehead to the cool floor, tears springing to my eyes from the intensity of it.

“Goddammit,” I hissed, digging my nails into my thighs as another wave of need crashed through me. “This is torture designed specifically for omegas, isn’t it? Some alpha scientist in a lab somewhere thought, ‘Hey, let’s make them literally burn from the inside out!’”

The decision crystallized through my heat-fogged brain with brutal clarity.

Either I faced those alphas again, or I might actually lose my mind.

Heat toxicity was real. Omegas had died from it when left untreated too long.

The choice between potential death and facing three furious alphas shouldn’t have been this difficult to make.

“Time to be brave, Ty,” I said, forcing myself upright. “Or at least slightly less pathetic.”

My legs shook uncontrollably as I staggered toward the door.

Each step sent jolts of awareness through my hypersensitive skin, the brush of air itself almost unbearable.

I gripped the doorknob, taking one last steadying breath before plunging back into the lion’s den.

Or more accurately, the alpha’s dungeon.

Sunlight cut through the high, barred window in harsh rectangular beams, illuminating what last night’s shadows had mercifully concealed.

The room looked less like a medieval dungeon and more like what it truly was, a perverse medical facility dressed up in gothic trappings.

Even in his depravity, De Luca couldn’t resist theatrical flourishes.

If I weren’t so terrified, I might have rolled my eyes at the melodrama of it all.

But any sarcastic thoughts fled my mind the moment I saw them.

The alphas were awake. Fully, completely awake. The chains at their wrists clinked softly as they shifted on their beds, their eyes clear, focused, and burning with an intelligence and fury that made my steps falter.

Wait. Something wasn’t right. How had they gone from barely conscious last night to fully alert this morning without anyone noticing?

Had they been pretending? The thought sent a chill down my spine.

If they were clever enough to fool De Luca and his men, they were far more dangerous than anyone realized.

“Well, well,” the blue-eyed one drawled. “The little omega returns.”

I froze, my hand still on the doorknob. Despite his cool tone, I couldn’t help but notice the way his powerful chest rose and fell with slightly too-rapid breaths, the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his jaw clenched as if fighting for control.

My omega scent was affecting him, even as he maintained that icy facade.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Mr. Enigma asked, his green eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite amusement.

His pupils were dilated, the emerald irises reduced to thin rings around expanding black.

A muscle in his neck twitched as he inhaled my scent.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you just disappointed we’re not as helpless as you’d hoped? ”

The phrase “cat got your tongue” sparked something in me, a flash of clarity cutting through my heat-fog.

“Is that what this is?” I asked, a nervous laugh escaping despite myself. “Some twisted game of cat and mouse? You three pretending to be injured while plotting to hunt down the helpless omega?”

Mr. Enigma’s smile widened, all teeth and predatory intent. “Clever little mouse. Quick to catch on.”

“Well, this mouse isn’t as helpless as you think,” I shot back, though my voice wavered as another wave of heat rolled through me.

“All mice think that,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that seemed to vibrate through my bones. “Right until the moment the cat pounces.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “I… I didn’t?—”

“Didn’t what?” Mr. Iceflare cut in. “Didn’t expect us to be conscious enough to remember what you’re planning to do to us?”

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was not how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to be disoriented, weak, barely aware. Not sharp-eyed and verbally eviscerating me from across the room, while simultaneously fighting their own biological responses to my heat.

“Look,” I managed, forcing my voice to steady. “I don’t want to be here any more than you do. De Luca has my father. If I don’t do what he wants?—”